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I took Rufus down to the vet this afternoon for a followup. He’d shrugged his way out of his bandages before we got to the stairs here at home, so I decided to just cover his leg with the sweatpant-bandage, since the vet was just going to take everything off him anyway.

He stomped his way out of that once I put him in the car, so I tucked the sweatpant in my pocket and walked him to the office. I was hoping not to have to put it back on him, but I peeked into the lobby and saw a few people inside. I figured they don’t need to get exposed to the goriness of Ru’s leg, so I pulled the loose wrap up his leg and tied a bow at his hip, so it’d stay on.

The staff started cooing when Ru came in: first the receptionist and then, attracted like seagulls, the other assistants and staffers. They have a serious crush on my doggie. Soon, one of them realized that Ru’s wounds were uncovered, except for the ersatz hip-wader he was wearing, and hustled us back into the one of the exam rooms, so they could get him taken care of right away.

The leg really is gruesome. I mean, to say it’s like raw hamburger would be an insult to raw hamburgers everywhere. How on earth he manages not to flinch when we’re changing the sterile gauze on it, I’ll never know.

Then the vet came in, gave him a quick once-over, and pronounced, “This looks great!”

“I’ll take your word for it, doc,” I told him.

“No, really! All this new tissue growth is fantastic. We’ll be able to stitch up some more of it next week, so there’ll be less exposure. Now let me get this drain out of him” — snip, snip, pluck — “and these stitches” — snip, snip, snip — “and we’ll clean out his wounds and rebandage him!”

Note: at no time did I write, “they put a muzzle on him.” The entire time that the vet was probing, taking out the drain tube and clearing out stitches, his assistant, a teen-looking girl (I’m terrible about guessing ages) who’s in love with Rufus, gently held him by the neck.

I thought, “Hey, I know he’s a really calm doggie, but this is stretching it.”

Once the doctor brought the iodine solution out to start cleaning things, he realized that a muzzle might be a good idea, so they set him up. Better late than never.

I told the vet that Ru’s bandages get replaced 2-3 times a day, because his musculature and his range of motion make it almost impossible for them to stay on him. It’s a real challenge because the sterile gauze pads also slide off the wounds, leaving them exposed to the air, germs, etc. I need one more thing to feel like a failure about. Trust me.

“What about the wrap I did last Tuesday morning? How long did that last?”

“Maybe 4 hours,” I told him.

“Really?”

“Yeah, man. By the afternoon, he looked like he had a neon green leg warmer on his ankle.”

He stared at Rufus’ leg. When he was done a-cleanin’g, he began a-wrappin’, putting base tape so high on Ru’s hip that it almost reached the other leg. “Tell me how this holds up,” he said when he was finished.

“I’ll take a picture in 6 hours. You’ll probably cry,” I told him.

But his enthusiasm didn’t flag. Where I saw sub-hamburger, he saw great signs of granular tissue growth and opportunity for stitching. We scheduled a surgery for next Tuesday morning, and we’ll see about our progress from there!

And now, on to the weekend, where Ru will make his triumphant promenade at our farmer’s market, and will otherwise lounge on his beds, rest, and heal.

Let’s just hope that bandage stays up.

It was another uneventful night with Rufus. He showed a little more energy yesterday evening, especially when he got a new visitor: the lawyer who’s going to step in if we need him.

This morning, Ru decided to go up the stairs on his own, probably chagrined by the fact that I’ve been carrying him up since yesterday. Since he doesn’t have any stitches to worry about, his bounding up the stairs is more a factor of leg strength and confidence, I think. (I noticed last night that he actually keeps his injured leg up when he walks down the stairs. Smart boy.)

I’m glad that he’s more comfortable up here, because I can get a lot more work done in my upstairs office than I can in the rec room. In fact, I have so many pages ready — and he and I are going so stir crazy — that we’re going to make the trek out to my workplace this morning, so I can get our June issue (mostly) out the door, clear up last-minute changes with my production manager, and let co-workers come by and give Rufus a hug/pet/scratch of encouragement.

I’ll also do my best to make sure the bandages and sterile pads are completely covering up his wounds. I took everything off and rebandaged him this morning, and realized that some people may get sick, run screaming, or faint dead away at the sight of his wounds.

We’re also going to have to find a medical supply store that will sell us a TON of self-adhesive wrap, as we’ve depleted the stocks of our local drug stores and supermarkets. As ever: oy.

No big changes today. I carried Rufus upstairs last night, so we could all sleep in the master bedroom, rather than downstairs in the rec room / library. This morning, he managed to amble down the stairs on his own, which was great. Been working at home today, making sure he doesn’t try to nibble on his wound, watching him sleep, and of course taking a funny picture of him:

. . . if not earlier.

We’d been taking walks solo this weekend but, thinking Rufus was pretty settled in his crate after his dinner, we took a 40-minute walk together this evening. He hadn’t tried to lick at his wounds since I’d sprayed the bandages with some bitter apple solution, and I thought he was ready to go to sleep when we left.

We came home to find that he’d chewed/licked through his bandages, tore up a bunch of his sutures, and has two gaping wounds in his leg again. We broke out the hydrogen peroxide, cleaned the perimeters of his wounds, and bandaged them (with sterile gauze covers first).

I should’ve tried to put his sweatpant-leg cover on before we left on that walk, but he was already in his crate and that’s the one place where I’m afraid that he’ll panic if I touch his leg wrong, and try to bite me.

I can’t tell you how angry I am at myself right now. I feel like one of us has to keep an eye on him every minute of this process. Also, the knuckles of my left hand are sore because I punched the ceiling out of rage/frustration.

Sorry to be such a downer. We’ll be at the vet’s tomorrow morning, and I’m hoping not to get browbeaten too much. Maybe she’ll have some advice on how to keep the bandages in place (they continually slide down) and how to stop him from chewing through his wounds.

Just a quiet day of trying to keep Ru from licking his wounds, ripping his sutures, or otherwise stunting his recovery.

Here’s our boy as the Bizarro version of Ace the Bat-Hound:

And a sign that he’s feeling a little better: the new yoga position of Wounded Cockroach!

Thanks for sticking around. I hope you have a good Memorial Day. I’ll likely spend mine reading and keeping an eye on Rufus, while Amy has fun with our grill (no rain, dammit!).